Molly Hooper
by Naraya-Marjana
Summary: No plot. No action. Just a woman thinking about her life, seeping through old memories, rediscovering lost wisdom, and longing for a man out of her reach. It's all been done before. By the way, a guest reviewer said it was dull. Don't get your hopes up, but maybe it was Sherlock! It is his favourite word, after all.
1. Chapter 1

I adore my job. I mean, I work in one of the most prestigious laboratories in the world. I am a scientist and proud of it. I work hard and my bosses recognise my input. I even enjoy writing papers, which is supposed to be the most tedious part of the whole research business.

I like coming to work every day, arriving in the small hours of the morning and leaving around midnight. I try to spend as much time as possible in the lab, because it is exciting and comforting at the same time.

People ask me how I can stand it, being around dead bodies all day. I don't mind, is what I usually tell them. The truth just upsets everyone. I don't perceive them as corpses, you see. They were once real live people, who had families, and plans, and bad luck. Now they have come to me to take care of them, document their injuries and use the flesh they no longer need to serve a greater purpose. I am honoured to be the one that gives them that – to enable the dead to have a purpose even after their hearts have stopped beating.

There are downsides, sure. I don't eat regular meals, I don't have time to go home and see my parents, I have trouble holding on to a boyfriend, and my friends tell me I hardly ever talk about anything besides my job. Boring, that is what they call me.

You see, I do actually have friends. Old friends, from a different time in my life when I was less happy and also less committed to my work. They just don't get how important my research is to me. They think I should get a life. What I think I should do is get a new set of friends.

Once in a while, my mind wanders. I imagine a life outside of this city. How it would be to get married at twenty-one and have two children by twenty-five. What my husband would be like – steadfast, strong, and caring. A wonderful man and a great father. But then again, I was never one to fall in love with a man who had the slightest wish to make me happy.

I always have to choose the one who is either completely ignorant of my existence, or unattainable in some other way. Already married, engaged or involved in a serious relationship, a jerk, a junkie, emotionally scarred or mentally unstable, you name it, I've done it. Huh. Maybe I've got a saviour complex or what it is called – you know, one of those unhealthy tendencies that make you look like a fool every other day.

There is one breed of male specimen that I haven't mentioned. Also unreachable, often a jerk, completely immature and with the emotional span of a cuckoo clock. (I would say emotional span of a teaspoon, but it's old.) The genius. My own personal favourite and a recurring theme in my most recent dreams. One of these days I am going to grow an extra arm so I can slap myself every time I think of him. That's how stupid I am to want him in the first place.

And by God, how I want him.


	2. Chapter 2

I've just figured it out. I've just figured out the appeal of Sherlock Holmes.

1. He's special.

2. He is a stranger to love.

Making him fall in love is the ultimate dream come true because if he ever fell in love, his love would be precious – so precious. One of a kind. Extraordinary. Special, just like him. I imagine his love would go to the same extremes as his intellect – which is exactly what everybody wants. To be loved in the extreme, in every possible way, every second of every day for the rest of their life.

Loving him is the other ultimate dream come true because – let's face it – it's a heroic deed. Loving someone so alien? Come on, it's practically suicidal. But all people in love want to be heroes, want to move mountains with the sheer strength of their love. Why? Because they think they can. They believe their love will outlast everything else. They believe their love alone is powerful enough to destroy the universe, rebuild it from scratch, and redeem it once and for all.

What could be more beautiful, more dangerous, more alluring than to bring love to where it has not endured? What could be more difficult than to make someone fall in love with you, simply by loving them relentlessly?

It's all about the challenge. The opportunity to love as love indeed deserves it. No one can resist it.

I couldn't resist it. And let me tell you something I have learned in my long time of knowing Sherlock Holmes. He's a selfish pig. But that is exactly why I love him.

A different woman than me would hate herself for loving such a man. A woman with even a shred of dignity would have given up on him ages ago. Such a woman would say, "If I have to try so hard, it's never going to happen. If he has not fallen in love with me till now, he never will. End of story."

I have already given it my best shot. I have flirted with him, I have helped him. I have given him everything I could. I have nothing more to offer him. He only uses me, because I let him do pretty much whatever he wants to in the lab. No more. I will do no more favours for Sherlock Holmes, the manipulative bastard. He flatters me because he knows I like, but it means nothing to him. He thinks I am childish, because I fall for his charm and good looks. He does not respect me, and I will not be used by a man who does not respect me.

Oh, who am I kidding?

You see, love makes a woman do strange things. I have wanted to turn my back on him. Really, I tried several times. And I failed. I tried to seduce him. I failed. I tried to play his game, be his equal. Obviously, I failed. But then I was just so happy that he needed me now and then.

I am still so happy whenever I can help him in any way. Offer my services, as it were. I guess that makes me a proper slut, and I don't even receive money in exchange for the services rendered! I like being used by him. I like that I can keep on seeing him, make sure he's still alive and well, solving his cases. It makes him happy. I make him happy whenever I can do something to help him with his work.

Why do I do all those things? Because I love him. I would do much more for him, but that is all he needs – all I can give him. He would ask for nothing more and he would not accept even if I offered. (Actually, I have offered.) So, here I am. Hopelessly in love, single, hooked on a man who does not care that I exist except when I come in handy.

I do not count. I am nobody. I am so sorry I have ever been born. I'm not good enough for him, and if I am not that, I am nothing. But I am not sorry that I love him. No. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and no matter how miserable he makes me feel, I will never stop loving him. Never.


	3. Chapter 3

I will never be as beautiful as the sky.

That's what I see, whenever I look up. That's what he looks like to me.

Blue sky, perfect and deep. White clouds, containing rainbows.

You might think I am dull because I have straight brown hair, don't wear make-up, and work with dead people. You might think I am dull because I keep a diary that's not at all exciting. It's all been done before. There are thousands of women all over the planet who share my fate.

But there is only one love for each of us and each love is unique. Every woman wants to be beautiful for her man, whatever it takes. Wearing make-up, changing your hair, bringing coffee, falsifying a pathology report – it's just the tip of the iceberg.

It's nowhere near enough. It will never be enough. I will never be as beautiful as him, who is as absolute as the sky.

Everything about him is extraordinary. He makes a difference. He saves lives. He has the most stunning mind in the world. And he is handsome. Don't you think so? Isn't he radiant? So full of life, so exciting!

I envy John, who gets to share his life with him. I wish I would have been born as John H. Watson, because I love him. I am glad I am a woman for so many reasons, but I would trade it all – give my life away, my very self – to be near him all day, every day.

But I guess it does not work that way. Does it? I am not important. I mean, I am important in a general sense. Everyone's important, in theory. And almost everyone is the most important person to someone else.

He is the most important person to me. He makes my day whenever he shows up. Even the one time he beat up a corpse, that didn't upset me. It excited me. Such passion! His work is everything to him, and all his energy, all his boundless potential to love, hate, and live – he uses it all but for his work. Single-minded, undoubtedly. Interesting, yes. Worth of adoration, definitely.

He risks everything he has, everything he is, to achieve his goal – which is often too small for him. I can see that so clearly. The most baffling crimes are but small puzzles to him – enough to satisfy him for a day, or two – until they are solved. And then he needs another one quickly, or he'll suffer. Nothing can placate him, nobody can console him.

Nothing pleases him but that he can pour out everything he's got bottled up inside – infusing into the world his immense talent, leaving his mark. He cares nothing for fame. He desires only to be active, to work – because it makes him feel alive.

Solving a mystery is an art to him, and he enjoys not the result, or its consequences, but the act of creating – he lives fully only in the pursuit of an end.

Can't you see!? It's the most honest, the most beautiful way to spend your life. He is like a child who never grew up, but he has a mind of God. And he is lonely because so few of us can understand, and appreciate who he is. He is like the sky, perfect and deep, but who ever looks at the sky except to ask whether one needs an umbrella? Who ever looks at the sky, and wonders at its beauty, and its loneliness?

I will never be as beautiful as the sky. But I will always look at him, wondering... Where does the story of such a life end? When do I get a chance to paint a rainbow?


End file.
